


Hero's Welcome

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1628435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one in Aqaba, Lawrence believes, is sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero's Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much movie!Lawrence, and I had fun with him. I apologize that this was several minutes late, I had a hell of a time with formatting.
> 
> Written for themis

 

 

No one in Aqaba, Lawrence believes, is sleeping. It's difficult even for him to make his way around the ruins, even after Auda and his men have been placated; every soldier wants a piece of their conquest, whether it be in material goods or in praise from their leader. He must first find a place for Faraj and Daud for the night, and then for their camels, and afterward, he seeks Ali. After a time, he is found in a seemingly lone corner of Aqaba that is both quiet and relatively dark. The room has a single window, square and glassless, an open chest whose contents have long been looted, and a thin army bed on a metal mattress. It probably belonged to a Turkish soldier, once, before his death today.

Ali is standing straight, turned away from the doorway toward the window, gazing through it, overlooking the city as it burns. "Hello, Ali," Lawrence announces himself.

"Should you not be crossing Sinai?" Ali says immediately, and doesn't move to face him. Though Lawrence had thought, and hoped, that his earlier bitterness would have dissipated by now, he is not discouraged.

"I'll leave later. Cairo will not have moved by morning," he says. "Besides, Faraj and Daud should sleep."

"But not you?" Ali asks, turning his head. His eyes are wide, dark; Lawrence wishes he could see the firelit desert reflected in them. He wonders if Ali can see it in his.

"No," he declares. Lawrence knows that he hasn't slept for at least two days -- was the incident with Gasim that recent? it doesn't seem so -- and he must be tired somewhere far inside, but it'd be foolish to think he needs to tonight, on the night of his victory. "I feel magnificent," he says.

"You would. Today you are a hero, and recieve a hero's welcome," Ali says, as if it were an admission rather than an honour.

Still, Lawrence steps into the room further; it takes only several steps to become close enough to touch Ali, should he reach out. "Thank you."

"I hope your generals are as pleased with you," he continues, and Lawrence cannot tell whether he is sincere, or not. When he says nothing, Ali tries to turn again, but Lawrence anticipates him, and moves more quickly. He steps forward then to the side, in between Ali and his view, and takes him carefully by the shoulder.

The motion pulls Ali close, enough that he can feel Ali's heartbeat, faster than normal. Ali can likely feel his; it has barely stopped racing since their charge into Aqaba that morning. "It isn't about the generals," he says. "Look over my shoulder. Aqaba is burning. For the Arabs."

Ali takes half a step back, still close enough for Lawrence to see through his expressions; there is a brief moment of vulnerability before they harden. "Yet we are led by you, English."

The name stings -- Ali uses it mockingly, and not even endearingly so, as he had before, even in the hostilities of their first meeting. Lawrence recoils at the insult, but recovers so quickly that he can hope Ali did not notice. "I meant it when I said I love this country," he insists.

"I believed you." Ali nods, and there remains a sense of conviction in his voice. To Lawrence, it is as congratulatory as his words on the beach, the true gift accompanying his victor's garland.

"Do you now?" he presses. Ali says nothing. "I wouldn't prove you wrong, Ali," he promises. "I will not."

Lawrence kisses him then, not on the cheek as is customary, but on his mouth. He is not sure what he expects from it, or even if he particularly wants to. It seems like the right thing to do. Perhaps it is something in the way Ali looks at him, the way he always has.

"You will use such acts to show your faith?" Ali says. He is curious, Lawrence can tell. Not disgusted. Not afraid of him.

"If I must," he says, and it is true. He cares for this land enough to go back to Cairo, to return to the English, for as short a time as it will be; sharing this with Ali is mild in comparison.

He allows Ali to make certain the doorway is clear, then to lead him to the narrow bed. They are both unskilled in such things, though Ali is affectionate, as if he is accustomed to women, as Lawrence's fellow soldiers -- former fellow soldiers -- would say. Ali welcomes the pleasure that Lawrence manages to give him, and it is in that where Lawrence gains the entirety of his.

Afterward, they sleep as brothers, attempting to make room on the small army cot. Lawrence doesn't mind the discomfort; it feels better than the cold floor would, though not as good as the cool desert. After a time, during which even he drifts off, he rises, and begins to ready himself for Sinai. There is little time to waste, now.

Ali stirs when his weight leaves the bed, and wakes properly while he's gathering his things. It is dark, pitch black but for the light of the moon, the fires and lamplights in the city long extinguished and the desert sun not yet risen. He pulls out his watch to check the time; plenty early.

"Four o'clock," Lawrence whispers when he sees Ali watching him. "You should go back to sleep."

But Ali, as always, must question him. "You will leave this early?" he asks.

"Of course," Lawrence tells him. "I don't want the children to have to travel long in the midday heat. You know that."

"Can it not wait for the next night, or even for the army and Feisal's ships?"

He could wait, and perhaps make the journey more comfortable, but he doesn't need any of those things. "Give me my ten days, and you will see why it can't," he says. "Wish me luck, Ali."

"You'll need more than luck," Ali says.

"Then lucky for me I have it."

 


End file.
